


weapon x meister

by chaoticlivi



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2445929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticlivi/pseuds/chaoticlivi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reading the letters to the editor is a bit like reading the comments section of a YouTube video. But this time, something good came of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	weapon x meister

She doesn’t notice it as much until she turns seventeen. It’s not prominent in Death City. In other areas, though, especially those far from DWMA branches, people are ignorant, and they regard her weapon as some great and terrible alien. And thus, their relationship comes under scrutiny.

Usually, people ask questions. They’re repetitive, but not terribly offensive. “How does he turn into a scythe? What is it like to hold a demon weapon? So how does he control his transforming?” Sometimes, they’re a little more invasive. For the most part, she doesn’t get these questions until she’s older. “Are you two dating? Can he feel you touching him? What part are you touching when he’s in this form?”

They avoid answering those more awkward questions.

One day, she gets curious and glances a bit at the “adult” videos at a store. She has absolutely no plan to partake in this disgusting drivel, of course, but she’s already pissed at her father and definitely in the mood to take her anger out on something else today.

She isn’t adequately prepared for some of the titles and subjects, however: “Meister, My Master,” “Weaponsexual,” “Use Me,” “A Helping Handle,” “Pole Friction”...

It’s the specific kink these few videos cater to that catches her off-guard: weapons having sex with meisters (ostensibly their own meisters, though of course it is all just poor acting). She feels confused. On one hand, the idea of sex with Soul turns her on like nothing has before. It wouldn’t matter what form he took, because he’d be there, he’d be as there as a human being can possibly be, and that’s the sexy part. On the other hand, it feels kind of strange standing here in the adult section, staring at the covered-up videos, fantasizing about her partner when clearly, there is none of the love or empathy or passion she wishes for involved in any of these titles.

 

* * *

He’s eighteen, and they’re in a hotel room after a mission. They have to get ready for this stupid formal ball to attend tonight, which he's dawdling on as usual. On her way past, Maka hurls a newspaper into the garbage with a little too much force for a casual tossing-away, and he wonders what the problem could be. Curious, he picks it up and glances over the page she had folded open.

A letter to the editor reads:

_In response to “Marriage between weapons and meisters popular after graduation”:_

_Why are relationships between weapons and meisters so common? The DWMA should be discouraging romances between its students._

_What they’re doing out there is dangerous. Romance and sex are distracting, so relationships should remain respectful and professional. I’m not a weapon or a meister, but I am a professional just as they are, and while I do understand those partnerships are supposed to be close, knowing one’s partner sexually can only confuse matters and endanger its integrity._

_In fact, while you obviously can only do so much after graduation, I think the DWMA should begin to emphasize that weapon/meister romances are strictly prohibited, as any respectable organization does among its employees._

_There is also the issue of passing on the weapon gene, which may not be good for society anymore. But that’s another day’s letter._

_-Tony Emprezo, New York, NY_

_Editor’s Note: Tony Emprezo is the CEO of Prime Limit, Inc., a company known for training civilian security personnel. We were honored to receive his input!_

Ah. Could that be what she’s angry about? He glances at the other articles, but they don’t seem as likely to be offenders. Then again, it could be wishful thinking…

Because he wants romance with his meister. Romance and sex. He’s been taking his time - they’re young and he doesn’t want to rush - especially not Maka, no. It’s taken years to admit, but he’s also absolutely terrified of being rejected, which as far as he’s concerned is always a real possibility.

But this… it doesn’t make him angry as much as it makes him want to go ahead and kiss her, hold her, ask her to take him right now. Call him contrary. He glances toward the bathroom, where she’s gone to do her hair.

“You okay?” he asks, hoping she’ll elaborate.

She sighs. “Yeah.”

“Pffft. Very convincing. You just beat up an innocent trashcan with an innocent newspaper.”

Maka doesn’t say anything for a calculated minute. “It’s nothing, really. Just people being idiots.”

“Was it that letter to the editor?”

She sticks her head out of the bathroom, eyes narrowed. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now. “What?! You read it...?”

Soul nods. Maka retreats again, finishes fixing her hair and turns the corner to see him.

“What did you think?” she asks.

“Stupid as hell,” he answers, sneering in the direction of the wastepaper basket.

Maka smiles. “Hurry up and get ready to go, or we'll be more than fashionably late.”

 

* * *

The ball is just another pain in the ass for Soul, who never thought he’d be a diplomat in the first place. Maka usually enjoys these events, and tonight she is polite and cheerful as usual, but she’s also tired from fighting kishin earlier in the day. This is their life now - fight in the daytime, schmooze in the evening.

He feels terribly uncomfortable in his suit and vest. Maka, however, appears to be thoroughly enjoying her red dress. When she walks, every once in a while she swivels her hips a bit more than necessary to make the skirt flare out. That alone makes it worth showing up. There are hundreds of attendees, including Kid - known in public as Lord Death - himself. Most of the staff of DWMA is present, as well as a number of witches and important civilians. There's no real goal here - only to get these different groups mixing and on friendly terms. The atmosphere is rather tense, but thankfully, it isn't hostile. (Maka has been to less cordial events. They are exhausting.)

Maka doesn’t try to make Soul dance for about half of the event, which must be some kind of record. She occupies herself with idle chit-chat instead. Eventually, she gets impatient and does pull him toward the dance floor, but they run into Kid on the way, who is chatting with a middle-aged man who appears to be a civilian.

“Mr. Emprezo, this is Soul “Eater” Evans, the Last Death Scythe, and Maka Albarn, three-star meister. Maka, Soul, this is Mr. Emprezo. His company is known for training civilians in security.” Kid nods politely at the tall, thin, well-dressed man, but his lips are turned downward.

Ah. This asshole. Maka keeps her poker face, but can’t help glancing over at Soul, who remains stoic except for the muscle that twitches in his upper lip. As if he doesn’t notice, the man smiles with a fake, oily charm that says, buy my services immediately. He barely seems to acknowledge Soul, much less Maka, and this infuriates them both. They do, however, shake his dismissively-offered hand. As they walk away, Maka takes Soul’s.

A few minutes later, both are on the dance floor, and they’ve begun their usual routine - starting out stiff and disjointed because Soul is uncomfortable doing this in front of people, settling into something more organic and relaxed as Maka’s enthusiastic embrace drains away his anxiety. They always end up leaning together in what would be an embrace, were they standing still.

“Funny how we would run into that asshole here,” Soul mutters into her hair.

Maka huffs. “Yeah. I guess it makes sense that the DWMA would eventually want to work with him. But that doesn’t mean I have to like him.”

“Didn’t you see? I don’t think Kid particularly liked him, either,” Soul chuckles.

“No, I was too busy being annoyed.”

They keep dancing. Step, step, step, step. They've quit trying to do fancy moves since Soul's foot injury.

“Emprezo didn’t seem to like us much, though,” she adds.

Soul shrugs. “He’s obviously got some weird thing against demon weapons, so I bet that’s it.”

She risks a glance at his face. He’s already looking at her, and at this close range they can both feel their faces heat up. His eyes under his bangs are embers burning in the snow; hers are new sprouts growing through the ashes.

“I don’t understand that,” she says. “It’s so stupid.”

“You would say that, Miss Death Child.” Soul grins and pokes her in the nose. “I’m used to it.”

“That’s...that’s really sad, Soul.”

Something that was stretched, something that used to be sturdy, has finally snapped. They are one of a dozen dancing couples, and the defiance that boils in their blood gives wing to more nerve than either had upon arrival. Neither notices that they’ve stopped moving. Instead, they’re staring at each other, gazes roving from eyes to mouths. When Soul licks his lips thoughtlessly, Maka tugs at his jacket, pulling him forward, and their first kiss happens. As soft as it is, as gentle and brief, it’s not chaste.

They observe each other for a few moments, until it dawns on them that this is entirely mutual.

“I can’t stand anyone who would act like that to you,” Maka whispers. Soul doesn’t answer verbally - instead, he leans forward to kiss her again, and it’s not enough for either of them. The desire to keep going, press closer and closer together, floods them.

“We should - do you want to--” Soul begins.

“Leave?” Maka finishes in a whisper. “Yeah. We have to - to talk. There's a conference room down the hall.”

Fortunately, no one meets them outside the ballroom, and they slip out unnoticed - or at least, unnoticed by anyone who would interfere.

When they arrive in the dark conference room and lock the door, they don’t talk. Instead, they fall into each other, hungry for kisses and closeness - the physical kind, something to go with what they’ve already got. How dare anyone even suggest this could be weird. His hands work along every inch of her back as he pulls her toward him, reveling in the nuances of her strong shoulders and sturdy spine, her firm ass. She curls around him, studying how he feels, how he moves in a raw way she’s only ever seen when he’s playing the piano. His excitement is hotter and harder than she anticipates. Her kisses are fiercer than he’s expecting.

They’ve been through almost everything together, and his heart still pounds in a completely different way every time her hand moves to a new place on his body. People speak as if they’re doing something dirty or naughty; he’s heard them talking in the locker rooms about weapons and meisters “fucking” each other, but as she cups and caresses his private parts through his pants he’s never felt so clean and right. They’ve been through almost everything together, and she gets lightheaded every time he sighs in response to her touch. She looks back on that letter to the editor and thinks about how wrong it is; this isn’t a mere _profession_ , it’s a place in the universe, and their role is to stare straight into the face of every conceivable risk out there and face it together.

Including this. He’s so shy about touching her; his fingers are under her dress, between her legs, but he’s tentative. The way he’s just familiarizing himself with the curve of her lips inside her panties is tender enough to drive her mad with love and crazy with want. She bucks against his hand, lets loose a quiet moan so he knows. And oh, he knows. It makes his head spin, so he sighs in response with a satisfied grin and slips his fingers past the fabric of her underwear. She’s wet and soft and hot. As far as she’s concerned she’s embarrassed, too, until she hears the deep weight of the lust in his voice as he murmurs “Oh fuck, Maka.”

As he starts trying to get her off, she helps by swiveling her hips and guiding his hand to the right spots. He catches on to the right pressure for her pleasure, and even while she gasps with need, she yanks the fly on his pants open, deftly pushes the button out of its fastening so she can reach in and grab him. His smooth, heated thickness fills her hand nicely. She tries rubbing him in different ways, lingers on his blunt head with the little bead of precum, follows his length back to his body. And when she jerks him fully for the first time, he bucks into her hand.

“Whoa,” she whispers. The hot desperation at her body’s opening builds in response to the motion of his hips, and she grinds further into his ministrations. He’s a quick learner, working his fingers just inside her entrance without forgetting her clit, and she catches on easily, too, jerking him with the same rhythm he uses. Neither has been planning on this, exactly, but they have both been having a _lot_ of complicated feelings for a long time and now they’re together and they want to come but _also_ want to make each other come just as much, possibly even more.

His pants and boxers are in the way. Distractedly, he helps push them down, barely far enough so she can freely jerk his full length (but not so far he can’t pull them up immediately if necessary). And now...he’s worried. Here he stands, bearing every inch of his arousal in all its fully-erect desperation. Is it going to disgust her?

No. It doesn’t. Her grip doesn’t loosen, but she does hum against his mouth, a note he recognizes as pleasure. She’s used it a few times when eating particularly good food, even when settling into a warm bed, and it’s always turned him on a bit. From now on it will probably get him going even more.

They both have good grips on each other now, can feel the climaxes building in each breath and every touch. The smell of her skin, the taste of his tongue, the tone of her voice when his name leaves her lips, and the heat of his kiss - the best way to describe the feeling is as a sense of wonder. He feels the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, being with her like this, knowing these secrets of hers, responding to her body and letting her take his; yeah, it’s definitely “adult,” but it could never be obscene. And it’s infinitely more real, and infinitely more important, than arbitrary rules ever could be.

He warns her. She nods in understanding, but doesn’t slow down, and he comes first.

She may have underestimated how much there would be, but oh, it’s too late, and she lets go and enjoys every twitch from his cock as she prevents him from spilling anywhere but into her palm.

He’s managed not to stop stimulating her. He’s breathing so hard, screwing his eyes shut so he can keep focusing through his orgasm; as he moans at the end, she answers him and it helps her come, too, her voice increasingly breathy as she throbs around his fingers.

They stand for a minute, regaining sanity. He slowly pulls his fingers from between her legs, and the wetness - there and in her hands - seems to hit her all at once. As they step apart, they look from their hands to each other and back, awkward as hell.

Soul is the first to make a move. He offers a corny grin and licks his fingers seductively.

“Ew! Soul, stop it!” she laughs, even as the sight of his tongue lapping her up rekindles the heat at her core. “Let’s - let’s go get cleaned up. There’s a bathroom down the hall.”

“Oh. We probably should have gone there in the first place.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly planning this. And I didn’t want to _make out_ with you in a public bathroom!”

In fact, between tidying up and flirting in the hall outside, it takes them a full hour to return to the ball. By the time they arrive, Mr. Emprezo has already left. Kirikou - who also happens to be on a mission nearby - appears out of the blue and starts chatting with Soul. Giving his hand one more squeeze before letting go, Maka winks and leaves him to his own conversation while she says hello to more attendees. She finds Kid standing by the refreshments; it’s an odd place for him to be, and she’s briefly confused before realizing that he’s rearranging the chocolates.

“Hey, Kid,” she says.

“Hello, Maka. How’s your evening?”

“It’s fine. I was just wondering - are you planning for the DWMA to work with Mr. Emprezo in the future?”

The Reaper looks up from his task to give Maka a knowing smile. “Oh, him. Well, he is important in civilian security, so we do sort of have to play nice with him, but he obviously carries a lot of prejudice against weapons. For that reason, we won’t be working closely together, and we certainly won’t be taking any orders from him. I promise.”

Her face lights up.

“To be honest, I don’t much like him, either,” Kid says.

“Glad we’re not the only ones.” Maka nods, grabs a chocolate, and turns away.

“By the way, congratulations to both of you,” she hears her friend say from behind her with poorly-concealed mirth in his voice. And it’s only then that she remembers--

The leader of DWMA and ultimate world diplomat has Soul Perception, and they were messing around only a few rooms away.


End file.
